


Four Times Nate Really Hated Christmas (And One Time It Wasn't So Bad)

by Rhiannon87



Category: Uncharted
Genre: Angst, Christmas, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate's never really liked the holidays much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Nate Really Hated Christmas (And One Time It Wasn't So Bad)

_One_

 

Nathan is eight years old, and all he can ever remember getting for Christmas is clothes and notebooks.

He sits on his bed in the otherwise-empty room. Normally, he shares the room with three other boys, but they’re downstairs, watching movies and playing games. He’s been confined to his room for the holiday because he mouthed off to Sister Anne again. Normally, he’d climb up to the roof, just to spite them, but it’s raining and he’s not sure that he’d make it without falling.

Since there’s no one else here, though, he figures it’s safe to dig Baxter out from under his bed. Nathan hugs the stuffed dog to his chest and presses his face against the soft, worn fabric. He’s had Baxter as long as he can remember, since before he lived here. It’s the only thing he’s got from back then, but he’s getting too old for stuffed animals. He knows that. He has to hide Baxter now so the other boys won’t make fun of him. But for today, it’s okay. No one’s around to see.

His box of presents sits on the trunk at the end of his bed. Nathan sighs as he stares at it. Clothes and school stuff. Boring. Oh, there are toys and new books, donations from the parish, but those are for everyone. They have to be shared, which really means hoarded by the older boys. The toys will be broken or missing in a week or two, and the books are all stupid, anyway. Either kid stuff or Jesus stuff, nothing _cool_. Nathan likes books about pirates and history and faraway lands, the kind of books with lots of maps and old drawings. At least no one ever tries to take those away from him.

No books in here, not today. He just has to sit by himself and listen to the rain until dinnertime. He could pull out one of his new notebooks and draw for a while, but he doesn’t feel like it. Nathan curls up on his side and hugs Baxter tight. He’s not crying, not really. It’s a stupid holiday, anyway.

 

_Two_

 

Nathan—no, Nate, he’s Nate now, if anyone ever asks—is fourteen, and he’s spending Christmas morning in a truck stop in Guatemala. The woman he’d been hitchhiking with called the police. She was worried about him, she’d said into the payphone while Nate eavesdropped from around the corner. A little boy all on his own, he must have family, they should come get him.

So Nate spent Christmas Eve on the roof of the truck stop, staring at the stars and waiting for the cops to leave.

Now, though, he’s hanging around in the lobby, snacking on food he stole from the vending machine. He’ll probably be stuck here for a while; finding women drivers this far out is hard enough, harder around the holidays, and there is no way he’s risking getting a ride from a man. Riding with women isn’t always safe—lost almost all his cash to a woman who pulled a knife on him outside Mexico City—but it’s _safer_ , anyway.

He tosses the wrapper at a trash can and stares out at the bright, sunny morning. If he starts walking now, he’ll probably make it to another truck stop before dark. And if not, well, it’s plenty warm out. He can find a tree or a billboard or something and sleep outdoors. Nate smirks. He can’t imagine why anyone would run north. They’d freeze to death in a week. No, he’s smart about it. Keep headin’ south, avoid the cops, and he’ll be fine. He'll get to Cartagena eventually.

 

_Three_

 

Nate’s twenty-five, and he’s just been kicked out of a hotel room in Lisbon.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you, too!” he snarls at the closed door. She probably can’t hear him. And okay, yeah, it’s not like he was expecting anything to come of a drunken one-night stand, but she could have been a little nicer about the morning after. Being woken up by having his clothes thrown at him and then being ordered to ‘get his ass out of bed’ wasn’t pleasant under the best of circumstances. Throw in a raging hangover and the whole thing was just cruel.

Christ. He’d been drunk, but he didn’t think he’d been _that_ bad of a lay.

Nate scowls at the door and stomps down the hallway. His head’s pounding, he’s in desperate need of a shower, he’s feeling rather used, and Sully’s in Amsterdam with a ‘lady friend,’ so no help or sympathy there. He trudges down the stairs and hopes that the receptionist at this place speaks English. His Portuguese is awful under the best of circumstances. All he wants is a ride back to his hotel so he can down some coffee and start feeling like a human being again in time to scope out the target’s house. Simple job, stealing a relic from one rich collector and selling it to another. Boring, yeah, but he could use the money, and it’s not like he’s got anything better to do with his time.

The receptionist gives him a pitying look when he emerges from the stairwell. “English?” he asks. The woman shakes her head and reaches under the desk. She slides an English-to-Portuguese dictionary over to him and raises her eyebrows expectantly. Nate just groans. “Taxi?” She nods in understanding and turns to her phone. Well. At least one thing’s going right today.

 

_Four_

 

Nate’s thirty-three years old, and he really just wants to be left alone.

It’s not like he or Elena have any big plans for the holidays. They stayed in bed for a while—he doesn’t like to think of how long it had been since they’d last made love, but whatever, made up for it today—had breakfast, exchanged presents. Elena acted a little surprised that he’d remembered to get her anything, goddamn passive-aggressive guilt trip, but she’d liked the new letterbag well enough. And they don’t really have anything else going on today, so he doesn’t see what the problem is with him doing some research.

Elena hasn’t said anything. She’s just been walking through the living room every so often and sighing pointedly before disappearing again. If she wants him to do something, she can just _ask_. But if she’s expecting him to develop psychic powers and figure out what she wants, she’d better be prepared for a long wait.

He flips a page in his book and hears the bedroom door open. Nate rolls his eyes as he counts Elena’s footsteps down the hall and waits for the angry sigh.

“I’m going out,” Elena says instead.

Nate looks up. She’s got her jacket on and her keys in her hand. “Out where?”

She shrugs, tense, and jams her hands in her pockets. “Just-- out. Getting a little stir-crazy.”

Nate blinks at her. Something’s very wrong, and he knows he should just swallow his goddamn pride and ask, but the idea of another shouting match is exhausting. Besides, she looks pissed enough as it is, and if she’s out for a couple hours he can focus on his work. He has to figure this out, find out where Drake went. It’s what he’s supposed to be doing. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll be here.”

Elena doesn’t reply right away, doesn’t move. “Yeah,” she says, finally, her voice kind of choked. “See you.”

Used to be they wouldn’t let each other leave without a kiss good-bye. But today, Nate just turns back to his book and flinches only slightly when the front door slams.

 

_And One_

 

As far as Nate can tell, Sully's never really liked Christmas much. Oh, sure, he'd buy presents for Nate, back when they were living together, and they usually call each other on the holiday if they're not in the same place. But any kind of actual celebration? Doesn't really happen.

So it's not surprising that Sully's sort of confused when Nate calls and asks if he and Elena can hang out at his place on Christmas. Nate doesn't have any specific plans in mind, but he knows he doesn't want to spend the day at their crappy apartment. It's a temporary situation, a place for him to crash while Elena was wrapping up her contract in Yemen. She's only been back a couple weeks, and they're starting to look for somewhere else to live. Elena's still a little wary about buying a house with him-- and he can't blame her for it, he really can't-- but she's starting to warm up to the idea. But their current place is empty and kind of depressing, and Nate really wants this Christmas to go better than last year.

Besides, you're supposed to spend the holidays with family, right?

Nate leans against the door frame of the kitchen, half-listening as Elena and Sully discuss what to do about dinner. Elena had originally been advocating for cooking something, but after seeing the barren state of Sully's kitchen, she's starting to be swayed to Sully's argument of 'let's just order a pizza or something.' Nate doesn't really care either way, so long as he gets food at some point. His attention is mostly focused on his present from Sully-- an eighteenth-century nautical compass, the silver case covered in detailed engravings.

It's the third compass he's received this Christmas. He rather suspects his loved ones are trying to give him some not-so-subtle hints about his recent misadventure in the Rub al'Khali.

“Look, I don't cook that much,” Sully says as Elena stares into the fridge and heaves a despondent sigh. “Not sure what you were expecting.”

“Honestly, neither was I,” Elena replies. “Going by Nate's lack of cooking skills, I shouldn't be that surprised that you don't do it much.”

Nate clicks the compass shut and looks up. “I can cook,” he protests.

“No, you can't.” Elena shuts the fridge and hoists herself up on the counter to get a better look at the cabinet. “You lit the stove on fire. You're not _allowed_ to cook.” She leans around the cabinet door and grins at him. “In fact, I'm not sure you should be this close to the kitchen in the first place.”

Nate rolls his eyes. Sully chuckles. “He's not that bad.”

“He lit the stove on fire. While boiling water.”

Sully blinks and looks over at Nate. “I'm not sure if I should be horrified or impressed.”

Nate throws his hands in the air. “One time! It happened one time!”

“Yeah, 'cause I banned you from cooking after that.” Elena shuts the cabinet but doesn't get down from her perch on the counter, instead swinging her feet back and forth. “Well, unless you guys want potentially toxic grilled cheese-- I couldn't find a date on the cheddar in there-- I think we're gonna have to go with take-out. Much as it pains me.”

Sully gives her a comforting pat on the knee. “I'll go find the menus.”

Nate pushes off the wall and walks over to Elena. “No, what are you doing, the stove's going to blow up if you look at it too long,” she teases, playfully pushing at his chest as he plants his hands on the counter on either side of her.

“Shush, you.”

She grins at him, eyes sparkling. “Make me.”

The ensuing kiss is no less wonderful for all that it's utterly predictable. “Goddamn it, you two, I put food up there sometimes!” Sully says, and Nate jerks backwards when a menu strikes his head with uncanny accuracy.

Elena laughs. “Not based on what I saw,” she replies and slides to the floor. She crouches down and retrieves the menu; Nate wraps his arms around her waist and reads over her shoulder. He's thirty-four, and for once, he thinks that maybe Christmas isn't be so bad.


End file.
